


The Devil's Waltz

by wordsliketeeth



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Graphic Violence, Plants, Threats, Yamazaki Has a Top Hat, that's all you need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27824461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: With his subtle smile, he watches you closely as you accept his hand. Howbeit, you can't make sense of the action. There is something visible in his countenance that is absolutely captivating. His low voice could easily be likened to the languorous effects of some almost exhilarating drug. Your breath hastens, coming quicker than the chorus of chirruping birds nested high up in the trees. Yamazaki has a curious charm about him, one that touches some secret chord that had heretofore been silent beneath the bodice of your dress. It was not comforting, but rather chaos, a sinfonietta plucking at your heartstrings. You felt afraid of him, much the same way as you feared the garden pests that could destroy your prized blooms come budding season.Oh, yes; he is bad business.
Relationships: Yamazaki Hiroshi/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	The Devil's Waltz

It is long past dinnertime. The moon hangs low in the sky like an overripe fruit and a harbor gray mist floods the street. There is a vague sense of foreboding in the odoriferous wintertide air; a night that should be like any other is marred by a shadow of unease—like a voice—an omen.

Yamazaki jumps over the iron hairpin fence surrounding your backyard without a hitch and enters your garden. He finds you crouched next to a plant, your face buried in the yellow blooms of the winter jasmine that climbs the north-facing wall of your vast garden. He watches you inspect their leaves as if they hold the keys to one's natural passions. The grass is soft and lush, bereft of crunching winter snow, giving back no sound of footfall as Yamazaki closes in on you. He places his hand upon your shoulder and primes his dry throat to speak. “It would do you well to remember that a motive in art is not worth catching a cold. I hear that dying of consumption is a particularly painful way to go.”

You start and draw back, a shrill cry tearing past your lips as a tremulous hand shields the rapid thrum of your heart. There is a look of fear in your eyes that has Yamazaki smiling. He extends his hand as he studies you with his caliginous eyes. “My name is Yamazaki Hiroshi. Though, perhaps frittering away time with an introduction is fruitless. There is no necessity of discussing the reckless audacity of this proposal, and just as inutile would be pretending that I don't already know your name.”

With his subtle smile, he watches you closely as you accept his hand. Howbeit, you can't make sense of the action. There is something visible in his countenance that is absolutely captivating. His low voice could easily be likened to the languorous effects of some almost exhilarating drug. Your breath hastens, coming quicker than the chorus of chirruping birds nested high up in the trees. Yamazaki has a curious charm about him, one that touches some secret chord that had heretofore been silent beneath the bodice of your dress. It was not comforting, but rather chaos, a sinfonietta plucking at your heartstrings. You felt afraid of him, much the same way as you feared the garden pests that could destroy your prized blooms come budding season.

Oh, yes; he is bad business.

You made no answer but Yamazaki needn't one because he knew exactly what you were feeling. Just like he could hear every thought in your head as if it were a postulate of his own. He presses his lips to the back of your hand, lets them linger in place longer than any gentleman should—and a shiver, drawn down your spine like a finger-touch of cold cream makes you visibly shudder.

You take in his appearance, a curious mixture of pieces: a formal topper with a grosgrain ribbon tied in a small, flat bow tie on the side—a knee-length double-breasted frock coat, a silky burgundy waistcoat, a white Excelsior shirt, distinguishable only by its high collar, a silk jacquard tie, striped dress pants—and the strangest thing of all, a pair of military boots that look as if they've been robbed off a soldier or a rifleman, appropriate for wear from the period of the American Revolution or perhaps, the War of 1812. He wears a large silver signet ring on his ring finger, too.

“I dare say, you fit into winter like the richest berries amidst the bush; a beautiful creature to supplant summer flowers when we have none to look at. If I were an artist I would ask you to be my sitter. You exemplify the beauty of Venus, the kind of artistry that bespeaks ivory and rose-leaves. Your elegance manifests a preternatural exquisiteness that, if I'm to be honest, is not unlike an ersatz wine made from elderberry juice. Don't be mistaken, Miss ____, your beauty is absolute—it is that you bear an appearance so ethereal that it seems hardly real. You wear the redolence of delft blue hyacinths and spring on your skin. Like the lingering days of summer, you wear pulchritude like the flowers you keep. Ah, but the life of the proletariat doesn't suit you.”

“I politely disagree, sir. Beauty is only but skin-deep, and I would rather waste away with the monsters and the dust sold by Curio dealers than gasconade about my vanity. It's widely known that genius outlives beauty, after all.”

“You answer me with brevity, but your rejoinder is not for lack of interest, my dear. I can smell the balm of fear on your skin. Your heart beats like an exquisite violin. It is a dangerous fate, to let one's soul wallow in despair and stagnation. Why, a lovely woman such as yourself thinks that I am a terrifying creature—perhaps my entrance was discourteous and brusque but who could blame me? Every evening, I pass by your garden redolent of unworldly scents and tarry awhile. It is as if your garden spoke to me with all the passion of youth; it bewitched me with its strange perfume—but there I have not felt such real joy as when I laid my eyes on the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I am not the kind of man to bandy compliments but I will make an exception for you. It is by reason of such an exquisite liberty that I have this opportunity to speak with you.”

“How is it that you know my name and my profession, Mr. Yamazaki?”

The man chuckles and bows his head. “My sincerest apologies, Miss ____. I should have informed you of my intelligence sooner.” He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a silver plated cigarette case. “It is with great disrepute and contempt that I'm calling on you, you see.” He presses an opium-tainted cigarette to his lips and lights it. He tips his head back to look up at the dark sky and the clouds that look like an untwine skein of lustrous frosty silk drifting across a rare ocean of cerulean and Oxford blues. He blows a wreath of smoke from his mouth and watches it curl up toward the sky like the tendril of a vine. It vanishes into the chilly night, as if he's imparting a piece of himself on the atmosphere. You lower your gaze to Yamazaki's weedy shadow on the ground, which sometimes moves differently than he does.

“Mr. Yamazaki, you have yet to answer my question.”

“Right,” he says through a whorl of smoke. “I should be sorry to make you wait, though, I'm afraid that my answer might frighten you. You see, I have taken an interest in you. This would not be our first meeting had I been forthright and inclined to talk to you like winter sunlight wishes to parley the cold wind and driven snow. As I remember it, you smelled of magnolia and violet water when I first happened upon you in this very garden.”

“It is a crime to willfully follow another person without their knowledge, Mr. Yamazaki. Surely you're aware of that much.”

“Ah, but of course, my dear.” Yamazaki discards his cigarette as if he's tossing a penny into a fountain. “But you must know, I have done worse things than this. I have sinned against grace and am therefore condemned to a life so dreadful that it would have you lament my fate. But every calamity brings its lesson, does it not? The life that has befallen me isn't alone grievous. I have learned how to flourish in an age so vulgar as this, an age grossly carnal in its pleasures. I have borne witness to those who lead the most commonplace lives and I do not envy them as I once had. I would rather live wild and free than be a tedious fool! I would rather live beneath the bridge of the defile than abate one whit of my time on patience. ”

“Pardon my ignorance, sir, but I do not understand where I fit into any of this.”

Noiselessly, the shadows creep around the garden. The mist of a dream paints a picture across Yamazaki's eyes, and when he laughs, the joy of a nightingale is in his voice. “You were right to be afraid of me, my little sparrow. I am a creature of the night, a monster. I have besmirched the countryside, and in my haste, desecrated noble and beautiful souls. I have plundered provinces much greater than this and spared not a single spirit from my ravage and destruction. Where the greatest and most stately men pacify their desires with adventure and gold, I appease my madness with pillage and fire. I, a part of a judicious breed, will prevail to placate the devil; as long as he will have me. I will continue to drink the black blood of your soldiers and the colorless blood of your noblemen. I will debouch upon these plains until I have tasted the heart's blood of every denizen, and it will be exhilarating for I no longer deign to rest on my laurels.”

Yamazaki takes a step forward, and you find that you are rooted to the spot. “Your heart beats like a sacrificial lamb led to the slaughter, but do not fear my precious gift.” His cold hands move like music, and when his fingertips caress your rosy cheek, he smiles as if in another language. “I'm not here to kill you. I have come to collect you for I wish you to be my thrall!”

“I do not wish to be you slave!” you cry, a mist of tears filling your eyes. “I am still young. I still have time to wither and blossom. I should like you to consider my innocence–once a plant's vitality is drained there is nothing left to keep it from wasting away. I do not wish to exist as the atrophy of an incurable fate when I am in the prime of my life.” You look at Yamazaki with flushed cheeks and tear-stained eyes. “There is sure to be some part of you that remains unsullied, is there not?”

“It is usually such a bore to listen to the whys and wherefores, but your voice is like a symphony to my ears. I do believe that I could listen to you blather on about anything.” Yamazaki traces your petal-soft lips under his calloused thumb. “But I must be honest with you, darling. No matter how chilling a lily-white flake of snow, when placed upon the bitter heart of man, it will melt. There is nothing you can say to change my mind.”

He looks as if he wants to kiss you but turns his face up to the lustrous white shell of the moon instead. “I have forgotten, until now, for I have lived most of my life as a wicked man—that I was once told, by a man of the cloth, nonetheless: an apostate from the faith is not so unlike the staunchest of believers. To such depths of servility and subjugation do perfidious nations fall. But! One's faith is just as likely to tear a nation apart as any traitorous heart. People, as a collective force, are as flawed as the cracks in antediluvian kingdoms. When acquainted with money, and treasure, and sovereignty, integrity and judgment are often cast aside as little more than scraps of rotten meat. When nothing remains but avarice and envy, there is no limit to the moral baseness of man, or woman, that is.”

“I'm not sure I understand.”

Yamazaki shakes his head. “You'll have to forgive me. It's been a long time since I engaged in conversation.” He wraps his arm around your waist and gestures to the garden gate. “Come. I'll explain as we walk. The night is most pleasant, and to be with such a beautiful companion, it would be but a waste to spurn it.”

There comes a howl in the distance as you saunter down the walk together. You look over at Yamazaki, who is watching you with an amused smile. You bite your lip and his eyes flash with certain hunger.

“I dare say, my dear, I don't think I've experienced a stronger thirst of this century. You are most capable of stirring my deepest desires.” A street light struggles down the street and in a terrible flash, Yamazaki's teeth are at your throat. “Tell me, darling, what say you to a game of Cat and Mouse? I like most men, prefer my meals _hot,_ and at present, you're so dreadfully cold.” The needle-like points of his teeth brush against the furious thrum of your pulse. “I'll count to ten. If you, in some such way, manage to escape me, I will set you free. Howbeit, happen what may, I _will_ get my hands beneath your dress.”

Yamazaki draws back and every street light illuminating Beaumont Street goes out at once. The din of ironclad horseshoes against cobbled stone can be heard on the far side of the thoroughfare.

“One...”

Another howl rends the air, as a wolf bays at the moon, full-throated and mournful.

The real games have only just begun.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this, please leave me kudos or drop a comment so I know what you guys like! It helps me decide what kind of content to write in the future. <3


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